


Carnation in the Crack

by screamingarrows



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-04
Updated: 2014-10-04
Packaged: 2018-02-19 19:35:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2400335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/screamingarrows/pseuds/screamingarrows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint's twelve the first time he realizes he's half of a whole. </p><p>He's twenty-three when he thinks he's found the one. </p><p>Clint's thirty-two when he joins the Avengers.</p><p> </p><p>In which Clint learns the difference between friendship and love and gets confused along the way</p>
            </blockquote>





	Carnation in the Crack

**Author's Note:**

> Oh wow, this took forever for me to write. I hope you like it as much as I liked writing it!

Clint's twelve the first time he notices he's half of a whole. He and Barney had joined the circus three months ago and now the owner has picked up two new acrobats. They're lovers.  

It isn't hard to see. They complement each other so completely, mirrors reflecting the same soul in two bodies. Clint loves to watch them. When they perform, it's like watching magic. They twist and turn so beautifully in the air, her arms perfectly fitted to his hands. She has total faith in him, even when they improv from so high up, she doesn't hesitate to take that leap. Clint's heart always races when they deviate from the assigned choreography but in the end, it's better than anyone could've imagined.

Watching them off duty is even better, though. It's like they're the same mind; she has the salt ready before he even asks, he's got her pearls wrapped around her neck before she decides to wear them. It's amazing, really, and Clint can't wait to find someone like that for him.

Clint's twenty-three when he thinks he found her. _The one_ , his other half, yada yada yada.

Natasha Romanoff is everything he always imaged his soul mate of being: strong, resilient, beautiful, deadly. She can take care of herself and he respects that. When they fight for the first time, it's like they've rehearsed it a million times; a dance only the two of them know.

He makes sure to stay far enough away so that she can't use her specific skill set and she makes sure to keep him close enough so that he can't use his. When Clint finally manages to talk her down into coming home with him to SHIELD, well, he believes her promises of alliance and it feels right walking into SHIELD with her at his side.

It doesn't take long for him to realize that she wasn't his other half, but she fit along nicely in his life; a puzzle piece that fits next to him but wasn't the missing piece.

By the time he's twenty-eight he pushes all thoughts of missing pieces, and other halves, and _soul mates_ out of his mind. Maybe Barney was right, he thinks. There's no such thing as soul mates.

Clint's thirty-two when he becomes an avenger.

\-----

" _Bruce_ ," Tony's whining can be heard from the hall and Clint rolls his eyes as he nears the source.

" _Tony_ ," Bruce's voice comes mockingly. Clint smirks as he reaches the communal kitchen and enters. It's only the two geniuses in the kitchen and they haven't noticed him yet. Clint leans against the door frame and takes in the scene before him. Tony's flopped against the island, arms outstretched uselessly towards Bruce, who is standing with his back to Tony, focusing all his attention on the sandwich in front of him.

"Bruce. Feed me."

"No."

Tony scoffs at Bruce's flat answer. " _What_? But you make the best sandwiches! Please, Brucie," Tony makes his voice go high and innocent as he pleads and Bruce sighs. He turns around with two sandwiches on his plate and hands one to Tony.

"Here, now I want five minutes of quiet," Bruce says, reminding Clint of a mother scolding her child. Clint smiles, watching as Tony hums happily and digs into the sandwich. Bruce must feel Clint's eyes because suddenly they flick up and Bruce straightens with a smile.

"Agent," he nods in greeting and Clint pushes off from the wall. Bruce munches on his own sandwich and pretends he's not acutely aware of Clint's movements.

"Birdbrains," Tony says after swallowing. Clint narrows his eyes in Tony's direction but he'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy Tony's teasing. Instead of retaliating, Clint turns and opens the fridge, pulling out a carton of leftover Chinese. He looks over his shoulder and raises the container.

"This yours?" He asks and both men look it over before shaking their head. Clint shrugs and looks the carton over again. There's no name so Clint assumes it's free game and sticks it in the microwave, just long enough to take the chill off, before sliding into a seat at the end of the island.

They sit in silence. It isn't awkward, but, despite their three months of living together, it isn't exactly comfortable and Clint can't help but feel like they're being so quiet because of him. Clint watches them through his peripherals and sees a slice of ham between the bread of Bruce's sandwich. Clint frowns and thinks back over the files he read about this team.

"Thought you were a vegetarian, Doctor," Clint says conversationally. Bruce looks over at him and lets his lips twitch up in an uneasy half-smile.

"More like a vegetarian based on location. Can't get much meat in third-world countries, not for free at least." He takes another bite of his sandwich and Clint nods. He supposes that makes sense; thinking about it, Bruce's body probably burns off more calories than Steve's does. The enforcement of meat in his diet would, in theory, keep him fuller for longer.

They fall into silence again, this time it only lasts a minute before Tony's talking. Apparently his five minutes of silence is up and he has a lot to make up for. Bruce looks relaxed as Tony talks, moving his hands through the air like he could pin his words before him like a picture. Clint's watching those hands dance between the two scientists before Tony's turning to him, hands falling to the table with a slap.

"Oh! I almost forgot! I need to borrow one of your arrows. I've got an idea on improving the concentration of your explosives but I need to make sure it's weighted right."

Clint almost wants to argue that his arrows work just fine, but instead he nods, not willing to knock the excited look off Tony's face. "Sure, I'll bring one down tonight."

"Perfect," Tony says, standing with his now-empty plate and heads to the sink. He waves an enthusiastic hand as he walks out of the room. Clint sighs dramatically, catching Bruce's attention and Clint shakes his head at him.

"You know, after reading his profile, I thought he'd be... less," Clint settles after a moment and waves in the direction of Tony's exit. Bruce doesn't say anything but smirks into his sandwich.

\-----

Later Clint brings down an arrow, like promised. He steps into the lab quietly; Bruce is working on one side of the room, hunched over a Petri dish and on the other side, Tony’s playing with a hologram, numbers streaming past his fingertips. It’s obviously intense, quiet work time and so Clint stands at the door a moment, unwilling to disrupt. The lab looks odd, Clint decides. He’s never been inside a lab that wasn’t medical, but he knows this one is weird.

It’s all metallic; machines sit in standby everywhere and all over the room there’s a gentle hum that only comes from electronics. Bruce’s side of the lab, however, is more clinical. The machinery is kept tidy, the counter tops are clean and the light is a harsh white that almost overtakes Tony’s side.

Tony’s side is, not a mess per se, more of an organized chaos. While Bruce is organized and methodical, writing his findings on pieces of notebook, Tony writes his in the air, knowing JARVIS will catch and record it all. He can afford to be messy, to leave his tools out and projects halfway finished all around. He has stools, covered with plush black leather, whereas Bruce has wooden chairs. Tony’s lighting is soft; it feels like home rather than work and he steps towards it unconsciously. His shoes squeak against the linoleum and Tony looks up. Bruce’s shoulders stiffen but he doesn’t turn away from his experiment, obviously trusting Tony to assess the threat.

“Legolas,” Tony says happily. He stands and gestures Clint over. “Just the bird I wanted to see.” His voice carries across the room easily and Clint half-wonders if it’s always this quiet.

“Hey Doctor,” Clint calls over as he walks to Tony. Bruce glances over his shoulder and gives Clint a small smile before looking back down. Clint looks over at Tony just in time to see a fond smile directed at Bruce change into one of excitement at the arrow in Clint’s hands.

Tony makes grabby hands and Clint hands it over, leaning against Tony’s workstation casually, as if he’s always been there. He watches as Tony runs it under a laser operated by JARVIS; Tony lets out a low whistle as the arrow is processed onto a hologram screen 

“Damn Barton, your weapon of choice may be a few years behind but it sure is beautiful.” Clint fights not to blush in pride. _He_ didn’t make the arrows but he’s the one responsible for keeping them clean and in fighting shape; they are _his_ and to have someone like Tony Stark complementing his equipment- it felt strangely like acceptance.

Tony snaps his fingers and a hologram of the arrow rises up before them. He tweaks with a few pieces, then twists his wrists and the arrow image spins in the air. “What’s the heaviest the tips can be?”

“Ideally not over 100 grains. Anything heavier makes the shaft too stiff and they break easier in battle.” Tony nods like he understands all Clint’s saying, and he just might. Tony’s intellect is incredible; no doubt he’s done his research on all the teams’ weaponry.

Tony’s hands flutter in front of him, making notes in the air that Clint sees being copied down on the StarkPad next to them. The way Tony moves his hands, bending the light just so and making the holograms do his bidding like magic, has to be an art form in itself. Clint can’t break his stare with the hands; oiled and stained with blood drying from a cut on his thumb, he can’t help but think they’re perfect.

“Yeah, this is great. I can totally work with this, easy. I can probably have a prototype for you to practice with tomorrow.” Tony smiles over at Clint; it’s a soft, easy smile, one Clint’s never really seen before and he finds himself returning it.

"Awesome sauce." The words slip out of his mouth and he cringes. He and Natasha had ironically started saying the phrase when they'd heard a rookie down at SHIELD say it and- oh God. He'd just used it _unironically_.

" _Really_?" Tony asks as his eyebrows raise in judgment. Clint shrugs, backing away with full grin.

"Gotta stay young somehow, Stark," he quips, "Otherwise I'll develop those eye wrinkles of yours!"

He darts to the door and it slides shut just as an oiled rag hits the glass where his head would've been. He laughs at Tony's incredulous face and winks before dashing to the elevator when Tony takes a threatening step towards him.

The elevator doors shut as Tony reaches the lab doors and JARVIS takes Clint up to the safety of his own floor.

\-----

It's dark. He can't see. His arms are numb. Cold. The cold is everywhere. He can't breathe. It's not his job to breathe. He has to get out. Why won't he move? He has to get free. His muscles refuse to obey; it's cold, so cold. It seeps through him, locking a cage around his heart. He looks around. It’s so dark. There’s the sound of whispered orders echoing around in his head and he wants the smooth voice _out_ but it’s there, there _inside_ and it’ll never leave. His body- his mind- is not his own. It’ll never be his own-

"Agent Barton?" JARVIS calls out from the ceiling, the lights flicker on but they're dim. Clint squeezes his eyes shut anyways.

He's fine. He's fine. He's free and it's not as cold as he thinks. They got him out. Natasha got him out. 

He's gripping his sheets tightly, muscles straining taut under his skin; it burns. His pulse throbs in his ears and he focuses his attention on that, on the pain.

"Sir, should I contact anyone? Agent Romanoff, perhaps?" 

Clint's able to unclench his jaw. His teeth throb with a dull ache but he shakes his head frantically. "No," he mumbles out, "no I'm okay."

JARVIS makes a noise that vaguely sounds like disagreement but Clint doesn't have the energy to retort. He still feels cold - or is he too hot? - and his limbs can't stop shaking. He huffs out two deep breaths and rolls himself up. He's able to stand for only a few seconds before his legs wobble and give out under him. The carpet fibers bite into his skin but Clint's comfortable. His arms are smashed between his chest and the floor in a mockery of breaking his fall and one leg is curled up under him while the other is sprawled half underneath the bed. 

The position sets pressure on his muscles and it's just enough to release all the tension built up through the nightmare. He breathes into the thick carpet, his warm breath reflects back onto his cheek uncomfortably and he tilts his head to the side.

“What’s the time, JARVIS?” Clint slurs out.

“3:22, sir."

Clint looks over to his bed and groans. He shifts, pushing his arms up under him. They shake but hold his weight and he's able to push himself all the way up, using the edge of his bed as a balance. He looks over at his bed; the dark covers are discarded at the bottom of his bed and his pillow is in the floor. Despite the disarray, Clint still wants to slide back onto the mattress and curl up, sleep until hundreds of years pass and the world has forgotten about him and all the horrors he committed. Maybe, when he woke, there'd be a Stark there, waiting for him.

He shakes his head sharply, dislodging the thoughts, and pushes away from the bed. No, he wouldn't ever get so lucky.

His feet idly take him to his bathroom. Clint stands in the dark, slight confusion overwhelming his body, until the lights come on.

"Thanks JARVIS," Clint murmurs towards the ceiling.

"My pleasure, sir."

Clint continues to stand in silence, staring at the toilet to make sure he doesn't even accidentally see his reflection. The old pajama shirt he's wearing is damp, sticking uncomfortably to his neck, and he smells of sweat.

His eyes flicker to the shower but he still doesn't move. Showering takes too much effort when he's fine to stand here until his legs break, until his bones turns to dust and his skin to ash. Showering is not a necessity, it's a _want_ , and wants are a distraction from orders.

Maybe that's why he takes a step towards the shower.

Clint Barton is a good soldier, but his real calling is being a spiteful little shit. Loki whispers that showers are not top priority, so Clint slides off his clothes and steps under the spray before he even has a chance to adjust the temperature. There's a certain feeling of satisfaction when he realizes he's acting directly opposite of what Loki's orders are; it's a deep warming in his chest and it makes his toes curl.

_He is fine._

He showers quickly, a habit driven into him before he even joined SHIELD, and towels himself dry. He grabs a second towel from the rack on the wall and wraps it around his waist before walking back into his bedroom, eyes downcast to avoid the mirror.

He hesitates again, right inside the room; torn between wanting to just go to sleep or getting dressed for the day. It takes a moment for rationality to clear his mind; he knows he won't have any pleasant dreams, not now, and so sleeping would be pointless. He huffs as he makes his way to the closet.

There isn't much. Civilian clothes were never a necessity at SHIELD and he had enough spare uniforms to wear whenever he was off-duty. Now, he has a few pairs of regular jeans, some plain t-shirts and a suit, all courtesy of Miss Potts. He doesn't think as he dresses; mindlessly pulling on underwear, jeans, and slipping on a light purple shirt. Clint runs his hands down the soft, cotton blend of his shirt before hanging his towel on the closet door knob. 

No more than twenty minutes has passed and Clint runs his hands through his hair aggressively, suddenly annoyed that no one would be awake. He huffs, walks to his bedroom door and throws it open to stalk into his hallway. He paces around his floor a few times before his eyes catch on the elevator doors standing on the far end of the room. Abandoning his laps around his apartment, Clint heads toward the elevator, remembering he's got an entire _tower_ to explore. 

The elevator doors slide open and Clint steps inside. The doors slide closed smoothly behind him and he looks for buttons with floor numbers. All he sees is a button for the lobby, lab floors, and an emergency stop. 

"JARVIS?" He says after a moment.

"Where can I take you, sir?" 

Having to speak a random number seems much harder than having to press one; by pressing he could at least claimed clumsy fingers ( _but who in their right mind would believe that?_ ). He isn’t sure what to say and he can’t very well back out and stay in his rooms; he sighs.

“The, uh, just a common floor, please,” he decides eventually. The chances of anyone being up are low and at least there he has different things to explore and a better TV.

“Very well, sir,” JARVIS says and the elevator lurches into movement. Clint’s room is only a few floors away so the ride is quick. He steps off with a low thanks and heads down the dim hallway. This floor is one of his favorites and JARVIS must know (Clint doesn’t think it was a lucky guess that he ended up here). There isn’t much, just a communal kitchen, a large den, and a living room divided by a half-wall revealing a game room. There’s no bar on this floor, which Clint appreciates. No alcohol to be found actually. He wonders about that half-heartedly about that before pushing the thought off for another day.

He’s starting towards the den; the couches are made of the softest leather Clint has ever felt and there’s a secret panel in the wall that just makes Clint feel safe. It doesn’t lead anywhere important, just a small reading room. Literally, small. Clint has to crawl to get into the room and once in, he can’t do more than sit cross-legged - not that it matters, he can reach all the shelves from the center of the room.

He isn’t planning on going into the reading room, but it’s nice to have a safety spot. He thinks Tony understands, that’s why it’s there, and not for the first time wonders if there are more secret rooms scattered around the tower.

He’s just passed the living room and is coming upon the kitchen when he hears voices. His body freezes, tensing on instinct, but relaxes when he realizes the voices are familiar. Bruce and Tony.

Some part of him tells him to hide and before he fully knows what he’s doing, he’s pulling himself up into the ceiling vent and sliding the cover back into place. The voices aren’t moving and Clint crawls toward them. The metal creaks and groans under his weight and he makes sure to press down on the edges of the vent to distribute his weight better. He passes over another vent opening carefully before coming to a rest over the one in the kitchen.

The kitchen lights are off, the light above the stove being the only source. It shines dully into the vent, casting thin lines on the top of the metal. Clint cautiously peeks down into the room; Bruce is sitting at the island and Tony’s seated across from him. They’re talking softly, or rather, Tony is talking and Bruce is munching quietly on his meal.

“I just can’t get the calibrations right.” Tony’s voice filters up through the vent and Clint feels slightly guilty. He’s eavesdropping, intentionally and for no reason, and he knows it’s a betrayal of trust, but if it was something he wasn’t supposed to hear he has no doubt that JARVIS would find some way to stop this.

“It’s just,” Tony lets loose a growl, “every time I think it’s fixed the pulsar shifts.”

Bruce swallows slowly and Clint has to press his ear to the vent to hear the scientist suggest a formula the engineer should try. Tony looks up in thought and Clint jerks his head away from the grate, not wanting to be caught spying. 

“No,” Tony dismisses finally. “The numbers would come out the same.” Tony huffs and frowns at the ceiling, lost in thought. Bruce lets him sit in silence before gently nudging the man.

“Tony,” he says gently, bringing the engineers sharp gaze down. “Eat.” 

Clint expects a smart retort but to his surprise Tony blinks, nodding like a sleepy child, and scoops up a forkful of rice. Clint cocks his head and watches as the two sit together. Just being.

He rests his head on his hands and lets his body relax in the vent. A yawn escapes and he muffles it with a fist; the exhaustion is heavy on his body, digging into his shoulders and pushing on his eyelids. His eyelids droop and he’s almost asleep when Bruce shifts down below. Clint opens his eyes slowly and watches as Bruce pushes his fork in Tony’s face.

“Here, try this.”

Tony leans forward and takes the bite off the fork, wrapping his lips around the tines and pulling off slowly. Clint frowns and arches to look better into the room. Tony’s chewing and Bruce scoops up another bite for himself without thought. Clint watches the two, listens as Tony voices his approval and Bruce offers him another bite.

He knows they’re friends, best friends even; maybe that’s something normal that best friends do.

But he and Natasha are best friends and they never share food like that. He’s lucky if he can spear his own fork into something of hers before she threatens him with bodily harm (no one takes the Black Widow’s food). Maybe it’s just a guy thing. It seems strange but it’s not like Clint has a lot of experience in that area. He’s never had any real friends until Natasha and he’s sure as hell never had any guy friends that came close to the level of friendship Bruce and Tony already had.

Clint stays in the vent, observing, until all of the food has been systematically eaten off of the one fork.  They place their plates in the sink and then leave; Clint waits until he can hear the elevator ding shut and then pulls the vent grate back to climb down.

Once in the room and out of the constricting confines of the vent, the exhaustion that had been tucking on his body leaves. His hands twitch with bend up energy begging to be released; he wants to go to the range, but knows that’s not even an option. SHIELD monitors all weaponry usage, even at Stark Tower (now Avenger Tower), and clocking in this early in the morning would raise suspicion his doesn’t want.

He casts an annoyed look at the dishes in the sink and sighs. “Might as well,” he mumbles and leans up against the sink. He adjusts the water and squirts out some dish soap onto a sponge before going to work. It’s not enough to dispel the urge to move but he wanders into the den anyways, ignoring the way his arms itch and his breath catches in his chest. Video games might help he supposes and starts to set up a game system.

He falls asleep before the game screen loads.

\-----

It’s nearly a week later when the call to assemble comes in. Clint’s asleep on the couch, again and wakes up with a jerk, eyes wide and darting around the room. Natasha’s sitting at the end of the couch with his feet on her lap and she squeezes his foot comfortingly.

“I apologize for the disruption Agents, but Captain Rogers is calling for all Avengers to assemble.” JARVIS’ voice is soft and calming and Clint’s heart rate slows back to normal.

“Is that really what we’re sticking with? Avengers Assemble?” He asks Natasha as he stands, stretching his back with a pop and shaking out the sleep from his limbs. Natasha snorts and stands with him.

“Captain Dork likes it and Stark hasn’t given him too much grief over it,” she shrugs. “It has a nice ring to it.”

“But assemble, like… like Legos. We’re not toys; we’re weapons of mass destruction.” He argues as they walk to the elevator. Natasha hums in half-hearted agreement as the elevator descends to their armor floor. “I mean, why not ‘Avengers Annihilate’ or ‘Avengers Assassinate’ or even ‘Avengers Articulate’.”

“Articulate?”

“Shut up; I’m in the moment.” She’s zipping into her suit and he’s seconds behind her. She straps on her bracelets, ties her hair back, and adjusts her suit collar.

“Agent Barton, Sir has stored your modified arrows here. He suggests that it might be a good idea to bring them for a field test, if you’re up for it.” Clint grins up at the subtle challenge and looks to the new box on his counter. He grabs it and slips a few in the quiver; Natasha’s by the elevator waiting when he grabs his bow and slings his quiver of arrows across his back.

“Assemble is more friendly,” Natasha says, continuing their conversation as if they hadn’t had the interruption. “We are the good guys now.”

Clint huffs; he knows she’s right but it doesn’t make the saying any better.

“It’s still cheesy,” he mumbles as the elevator opens on the ground floor. Natasha gives him an amused look and is about to speak when JARVIS’ voice comes across the speakers.

“Good luck, Agents.” He says as they exit the elevator and Natasha sends the ceiling a fond smile while Clint offers a salute. Natasha marches up to Steve’s right and stands in a parade-rest while they wait for the others to join. Steve hands them their ear pieces and Clint slides one of his aids out to put the comm. in. Thor enters next, clad in his Asgardian wear with his hammer hanging tensely at his side. Bruce is last, looking rumbled in baggy clothes that Clint’s never seen before.

“Sorry,” he murmurs as he approaches. “Was in the lab and had to go change.” 

Steve nods and hands Bruce and Thor their comm. units. He taps his finger to his and beckons for the group to follow into the streets.  

“Iron Man, do you copy?” Steve asks and his voice sounds up close and abrasive in the comm. 

“Roger, Rogers.” Tony responds and Steve nods to a nearby agent once they get outside. 

“What’ve we got, Cap?” Clint asks and Steve doesn’t slow his pace as he responds. 

“Mutants breaking into a bank,” he says and Tony curses. Steve ignores him and continues, “We have to do damage control until a Professor Xavier arrives.” 

“Are they identified?” Natasha asks as they dart across the street. 

“Not that I’ve been told,” Steve responds. Iron Man flies past overhead and circles around a few streets over. Bruce glances up worriedly at the sky as they walk and Clint casts looks of concern towards him.

“I’ve got sight on three. JARVIS says based on video feed they appear to be Deltas.” Tony’s voice barks clearly over the comms.

“Any idea on their powers?”

“Definitely some kind of telekinesis; one of ‘em is juggling bricks midair.”

“Okay Iron Man, circle back. This is strictly defense until the Professor arrives, got it?” Cap sends a sharp look to the group and they nod in unison.

“Yes, sir,” Tony says before there’s a screech of metal and then a long, drawn-out, “ _Shit_.”

The team flinches at the noise before Steve stalks forward, hand to his ear.

“Iron Man, report!”

There’s silence. Clint looks up to the building tops and sees Bruce in the corner of his eyes. He’s trying to unbutton his shirt but the shaking in his hands makes it near impossible.

“Stark! Report!”

“Hey Bruce,” Clint says slowly, raising his hands toward the scientist. The words bring him to the team’s attention; Steve jerks around like an enemy has snuck up behind him, Thor mimics Clint’s pose, and Natasha takes a cautious step back.

“Doctor,” Steve says. Bruce looks up, eyes wide, wild, green. Steve nods and Bruce’s form shakes before Hulk is roaring into the sky before them. He finishes with a growl and focuses on the team at his feet, huffing with anger through clenched teeth. His eyes flicker up over the buildings and he growls low in his chest.

“Hawkeye, we need visuals.” Clint nods at the order and pops his bow out.

“Widow, Thor, I need you to go around back. If we can get them contained, do it. Hulk and I will take the frontal approach.”

Natasha and Thor nod and start off down the street, careful to keep quiet in the disturbingly silent area. Hulk grunts his acceptance and starts to follow Steve, who’s moving down the street with a sure-footed grace, when Clint taps him on the leg.

“Wanna give me a boost?” He shouts up. Hulk grins and grabs him around the waist before setting him on the roof of a nearby building. It’s not as high as Clint would like but it’ll do. Clint gives him a quick salute before running to the other side. Hulk grins at him before following after Steve.

Clint crouches over the ledge and looks down at the sight below. The Iron Man suit is immobile on the ground and Clint notches an arrow in precaution. There are only two mutants visible, which immediately sets Clint on edge and he glances to his left, where Natasha and Thor still haven’t emerged from their trip around the buildings. Steve’s rounding the corner and Clint scans the area again.

“Cap, I see Iron Man, he’s down; and I’ve only got visuals on two mutants,” he warns. Even from his distance, Clint can see Steve tense and look around quickly.

“Got it. Widow, Thor, report.”

“Present,” Natasha sounds off like a classroom roll call.

“We’ve no trouble on this end, Captain,” Thor responds easily. Clint feels like they might be taking this too carelessly but shrugs it off to being the Black Widow and a god. His eyes flicker to their end before searching for the third mutant.

It isn’t until he looks at the ground with scrutiny that he sees that the two mutants are _stationed_ in their spots. A blond male’s across the street, one hand outstretched toward Iron Man but he isn’t looking in Tony’s direction. He’s focused completely on the bank across from him. A red-head is on the same side of the street as Clint’s perch, standing in front of the bank; she looks nervous. Her head’s whipping around the street- probably on the lookout for the Hulk- and the bricks she’s juggling are spinning fast above her head.

“ _Shit_. Cap, these are kids,” Clint says and his stomach sinks. This mission just got a lot harder. It’s easy to fight against adults; adults know what they’re doing, they know the consequence of their actions. When it involves kids, especially mutant children, there tends to be no choice involved.

“ _Kids?_ ”

“Well not _little_ kids but yeah, they aren’t adults.”

There’s a pause, then, “Alright; this just makes it all the more important that our mission is to keep them here without force.” As Steve reiterates the mission, Clint’s phone starts vibrating a ring in his pocket. Clint ignores it as Natasha advises Steve to keep the Hulk back.

“If he sees Iron Man down he’ll charge in, we all know this,” Natasha’s saying as his phone vibrate-rings again.

It vibrates once more as he hears Steve attempt to talk Hulk into staying behind. Something in his chest prickles and a rush of urgency goes through him. He looks down, sees that the kids haven’t moved, and slides his bow and arrow into his left hand to reach into his pocket with his right.

The phone stops briefly before buzzing back to life and he looks at the screen. The number for the Tower is lit up on his screen and he slides to answer. He holds it between his shoulder and cheek and scans the road below.

“Hello?” He growls into the phone. His team questions him through the comm. but there’s a muffled voice on the other end of the phone that captures his attention. He presses the phone closer to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Barton! Thank fuck you finally answered!”

“Tony? What? Where’s your comm.?”

There’s the chatter of his team and Steve demands to know what’s going on but Tony’s talking and Clint ignores the commands of his team.

“It’s the boy,” Tony says loudly and Clint instantly pulls up his bow and aims it at the street. “Magneto wanna-be; downed me fast. Send in a distraction, will you?”

Without much thought he adjusts his stance and aims at the wall next to the blond. He's strung a new arrow and shifts the tip so that the explosion will be aimed away from the kid. Between one breath and the next, he releases. The arrow explodes brick and wood upon contact and the kid ducks down, despite no ruble falling his way. With his concentration broken, Iron Man is free to fly up. The suit rockets into the air and as he flies past, Tony lowers his face plate and grins at Clint. Only once Iron Man is out of view does Clint hear Steve shouting at him in the comms. 

"Hawkeye, what the hell are you doing?" Hulk roars in the background and he can hear Natasha's annoyed breathing. 

"Probably something stupid," Clint mutters; the one with the bricks has tossed up her hands and they go flying up to his perch at lightning speed. He dives to the ground as they shoot through where he'd been standing and he hears both Steve and Natasha shout his name through the comms.  

"I'm fine," he tells them and pokes his head over the edge. The kids are shouting below; the boy's looking up at the rooftops, his hand outstretched with his palm to the sky and the girl has backed up into the opening of the bank. The bricks are stacked up as a half wall over her and the boy darts to the weak shelter. Tony flies past Steve before circling around and landing next to him, faceplate still raised. Clint can hear their muffled conversation in the background of his focus. He hears how the kid with metal control completely grounded him and crushed his comm. out of his ear. Tony warns Steve about his shield and that causes Steve to press his hand to his ear, looking across the strip to Natasha and Thor.  

"You hear that? Anything with metal can be compromised so keep an eye out."  

Clint sees the girl notice the two avengers behind them and she's readying rocks and debris from the first explosion into a tight, spinning ball. Clint shouts out a warning but Natasha had already seen it.  

"Aye, aye," Natasha barks out as she pushes at Thor, using that momentum to give her enough force to jump over a car. Without a pause the girl whips around and sends the Orb of Destruction down the other end of the street. Clint pulls back another Stark-arrow and releases. It hits the top of their makeshift shelter and the bricks below explode into dust.  

Concentration broken, the Orb of Destruction falls, but not quick enough. Clint knows it'll hit Steve, possibly Tony, and he's frozen for a second, not sure what he could even _do_ when there's a roar and Hulk jumps in front of his two teammates. The Orb hits his green back and he growls up at the sky but when he steps back both Steve and Tony are unharmed. Hulk huffs, snorting down at the wreckage at his feet, and Tony flies up to pat his shoulder.  

"They're headed inside, Cap," Natasha warns and Steve darts forward, shield up and tight in his grasp.  

"Do not let them into the building." The command is sharp and Clint notches an arrow.  

"Want me to blow the entrance?"  

Natasha and Thor wouldn't make it in time to stop them, well, maybe Mjolnir would but their aim isn't to harm them and getting whacked in the face with that hammer would definitely cause harm. 

"No!" Tony's voice is a surprise and completely cuts off whatever Steve was going to say. Tony's buzzing past overhead, faceplate down and scanning the streets. Clint assumes JARVIS managed to finally break into their feed and he feels irrationally grateful to be able to hear all his teammates again. 

"There's someone inside, a girl." 

Steve growls in annoyance and Clint feels the same way; why can't anything be easy?  

"Fine," Steve says sharply as he makes his way towards the mutants. "Widow, can you get in?"  

Natasha scoffs, "Easy."  

"Good. Thor," he barks, "stay at her six. Iron Man, you need to circle around, make sure they don't leave. Hawkeye, I need you across the street."  

Clint nods, despite Steve not being able to see him, and waves up at Tony who's passing overhead.  

"Give me a lift," he demands. Tony lands quickly next to him, wraps a metallic arm around his waist, and jets off to a building directly across where he was. Clint gets his balance and rushes to the edge of the roof. This building is taller and Clint settles in on the ledge and watches as Natasha and Thor race into the bank.  

"No please or thank you? Barton I'm ashamed." Tony mocks as he takes off. Clint flicks him off and he can hear Tony's loud laugh in the comms. 

Hulk roars as Tony passes over him and makes to follow when Tony makes a sharp turn and hovers in front of the Hulk. 

"Hey Big Guy, what's happenin'?" Tony asks as his eyes skim over the next street over. Hulk blows warm air into Tony's face and Clint admires Tony's ability to stay straight-faced.  

"Hulk stay with Tin Man." 

"No can do, buddy. The good Captain needs you right now." 

"Hulk can protect Tin Man."

There's a moment’s pause and Clint narrows his eyes at the bank but can't see any movement inside. 

"I know you can, Big Guy, but right now I need you to protect the Captain, okay? Look out for good ol' Stars-and-Stripes." 

Hulk's face twists into a frown of displeasure but at Tony's gentle nudge, he moves back to Steve's side. He follows Steve's orders and wanders down the street to keep an eye on the bank and surrounding buildings but he keeps grunting, huffing while he cranes his neck to try and see the red and gold metal of the Iron Man suit. 

There's a deafening silence, Clint can only hear the soft wind whipping around his body and the sound of his own breathing.  He tightens his grip on the arrow, pulling the string taut. There's no movement from the banks, the mutants are being unusually quiet and it's making Clint antsy. 

Steve must feel the weight of the silence too. He hesitates and holds up a hand to halt the Hulk. 

"Sound off," he says softly. 

"Here," Clint replies softly. Tony does the same and then there's silence. 

"Thor? Widow? Sound off." 

Nothing. 

Steve looks up at Clint and Clint nods, feels his heart racing in his chest. Steve heads toward the bank slowly, balancing on his toes to avoid making noise. There’s a flicker of movement in the bank and Steve dives to the ground just as the glass window shatters and Thor’s flung out at an unnatural speed. He hovers in the air by the chainmail on his armor before being slammed down on the road hard enough to crack the concrete. Hulk roars at the sound and sniffs in Thor’s direction. Natasha follows quickly after, but she isn’t flung nearly as far or hard; Clint supposes it’s because she doesn’t have a quarter of the metal Thor does.

Natasha lands on her feet and discards her bracelets as she runs back to the shattered window; Steve stands, looks back to see Thor dusting concrete off his cape before darting after Natasha, metal shield raised like he believes it’ll do him good.

“What was that?” Tony demands. Clint raises a hand over his shoulder to touch the ends of his arrows.

“They’re headed inside the bank,” Clint responds. Natasha jumps in through the window and Steve looks like he wants to take the door but follows Natasha’s lead and goes through the window. Thor raises his hand to call Mjolnir to him, the hammer comes whizzing out of the bank and rests in Thor’s grip. Hulk clenches and loosens his fists, his chest rising and falling with tension and the need to smash.

“I’m coming back over.” The sound of Iron Man’s repulsors sound through the feed and he sees Tony come over the top of the roof slowly.

“Need me to send in some smoke?” He asks. There’s no response and Clint readies an arrow with a smoke-bomb tip anyways. Thor’s turning his hammer anxiously across the street, waiting; Hulk sees Tony on descending to the street and grins over at him.

Then there’s a spur of movement. Natasha shouts distantly and Steve comes shooting out of the bank, legs curled up to his chest, completely covered by the shield he’s gripping onto for dear life. Steve’s trajectory is straight to Thor, who catches the Captain against his broad chest. He’s relieved to see Steve’s fine, but Natasha’s shout has put him on edge, the hair on his arms rising as adrenaline pushes through his veins.

“Cap?” He questions tensely. Steve doesn’t as much as twitch.

Following his gut instinct, Clint releases. The arrow flies through the broken window and there’s a crackling before smoke fills the room. Steve turns, gesturing wildly up at Clint’s perch. He can see that their leader is yelling, but no sound is reaching him. Clint almost feels guilty, he’s on a team after all, a team with a leader whom is in the field with him and knows the calls that should and shouldn’t be made, but then Natasha’s stumbling out of the bank into the street, where Clint can see her, and any guilt vanishes in an instant.

Chairs follow after Natasha, hurdling towards the team at dangerous speeds. The chairs divide; one strikes Thor and Clint has a moment of confusion when the legs wrap around Thor’s biceps and push him to the ground. Two head for Tony and he blasts them with a repulsor. The metal twitches feebly on the ground but they can’t group themselves together to get back up. Natasha picks up a piece of wood off the ground from the building across the street and breaks the plank on one of the chairs. The legs hit the ground and struggle to rise again. Deeming it no longer a threat, Natasha joins Steve’s side to fight off the two that are trying to wrap themselves around Steve. Hulk smacks down four which had managed to wind themselves half-heartedly around his massive arm and he takes a threatening step toward the bank.

Thor manages to wiggle out of his hold and rushes to put a calming hand on Hulk’s leg, halting him from moving closer. There’s a lull in the attack and then the bricks begin rolling into a formation. Tony flies up and across the window, making himself a target and a distraction. Hulk swats at the red bricks tailing Tony as he flies up and over the edge of the building. As he goes out of sight, the bricks lose their powers and fall to the ground in a clash of noise, dust and shattered brick rising in a small plume of smoke. 

“What’s going on?” Tony barks through the feed. Clint shrugs, despite knowing no one can see him, and watches as the group, minus Hulk, move forward as one toward the bank; Thor’s blocking the door, Natasha and Steve are covering the window.

“No clue. Comms with the rest are down,” Clint warns. “Any idea when Xavier’s showing up?”

“Fuck if I know. Guy doesn’t let JARVIS anywhere near his stuff.” There’s something like awe in Tony’s voice. Clint can’t help but smirk.

“SHIELD ought to take a few pointers,” Clint teases. Tony zooms over his perch and flips him off.

“Then how would I find anything out?” He asks and lands solidly behind Natasha. There’s a moment where nothing happens and when Clint writes about it in the report, he cheekily calls it the eye of the storm. Nobody moves; no one speaks; the Hulk’s breaths aren’t even very loud. It’s peaceful, if you can ignore the destroyed buildings.

Clint doesn’t even have time to tense before everything happens at once. The Iron Man suit goes flying sideways, swiping Natasha, Steve, and Thor away from the windows. Hulk roars and reaches out to catch his teammates with one hand and smashes the roof of the bank with the other. The bricks that fall don’t even touch the floor before they’re propelled towards Hulk, crashing into his face. That serves to make him angrier and he lets his team down gently, Iron Man pinning the rest down with unnatural ability against the road, and pounds into the ground. The bricks, and now chunks of concrete, crawl up the Hulk’s massive body with life of their own and bite into his skin with mouths that weren’t there earlier. He rips off a piece of black top that had reached his shoulder and throws it at the kids, who are now peering out the windows with varying degrees of concern written on their faces. They flinch back but the one throws her hands up and the road chunks hover before falling to the ground, far enough away to keep the group safe.

Clint pulls back an arrow but keeps his arm tense, his thumb stabilized on his anchor point. He’s unwilling to release the arrow on these kids and he takes a moment to breath and marvel at the _strength_ of them. Hulk growls and they don’t even flinch; Clint almost wants to know what happened to them to make it seem like going against the Hulk- _the Avengers_ \- was the easier option. They exit the bank quickly, their attention still focused on their individual attack on the Avengers on the ground. They’d forgotten about Clint and it was a mistake which was usually grave, but not today.

He watches as two dart off down the street and the other two hold their attack a moment to give the others a head start before they run after them.

Wait.

Clint frowns as he looks down at the _four_ mutant children running below. He doesn’t have time to ponder long before the Hulk’s charging after them. The Iron Man suit shoots straight up with a muttered, “That’s getting old,” and spins, taking in the scene in before charging back to battle.

“There’s four of them!” Clint shouts to be heard over the Hulk’s angry snarling as he jumps to get closer to the kids. The new mutant’s form shivers like a mirage in the desert and suddenly she’s two blocks ahead of the others.

“What?” Tony demands harshly and Clint grits his teeth.

“Four.” He says simply as he stands and takes off running across the roof. He needs to catch up and the next roof isn’t too far away; he thinks he’ll be able to jump if he gains enough speed.

“What are you doing, Katniss?” Tony asks and Clint thinks he’s imagining the worry in the billionaire’s tone.

“Flying,” Clint mutters as he jumps. There’s a split second of panic that he’s not going to make it and his last words would be a _fucking joke_ but then he feels the mechanical arms of the Iron Man suit around his waist. They give him just enough support to carry him across the remaining feet and he’s dropped as soon as he clears the edge. He tucks and rolls, the roof scraping at the exposed skin at his arms, and comes to his feet running.

He can hear his team distantly, shouting below on the streets as they race to catch up but only Tony and Thor, and possibly Steve, have a chance to catch up now. Tony zooms ahead and does what he can, but the suit is build for attack and it’s all he can do to keep the Hulk from treating the kids as hostiles. Clint can hear the man trying to talk Hulk down as he hovers in front of the broad, green chest and blocks the attempts at moving past.

It’s unlikely that Clint will ever stop marveling at the affection the Hulk has for Tony. Granted they haven’t had many interactions, but ever since the Chitauri attack, Hulk has spend an unexpected amount of time and energy making sure the engineer is safe during battle. Even now, with his nostrils flared and his teeth snarled in anger, he stops to listen to the man talk. Clint glances back at the last three Avengers. It’s clear Thor wishes to be up further, and Clint knows Steve can run faster than that, but both men seem reluctant to leave Natasha behind. Clint appreciates it; Natasha probably does too, even as she’d deny it vehemently.

He looks back down the road and sees that Iron Man was successful in getting Hulk to stand down- not that he expected any different- and a little further the kids are nearing the corner. Clint wants to curse when he realizes they’ve gotten too far for him to reach, but it must be his lucky day because when they get to the end of the road, they turn and run back down the road that’s parallel to the first. They must think they’ll be able to lose their tail but Iron Man’s quick.

Clint’s almost starting to feel offended that he’s been forgotten but the feeling passes when Iron Man herds them towards his perch. He reaches around and grabs a rope-tipped prototype. The idea is that it’ll unravel to form a net, it performed well during practice, but this is the first field test.

He gets ready and narrows one eye to get better focus. The kids are lining up where they need to be. He pulls back; the muscles in his arms are as taut as the bow string. The Hulk roars as he comes around the corner; Thor, Natasha, and Steve are following him. The kids look in the direction of the Hulk. It couldn’t have been a better distraction if they’d planned it.

The youngest mutant, the one who’d come from the bank, looks up at him and screams as his fingers release the bow.

The scream shatters the air and freezes everything. Clint feels like he’s watching in slow motion. The boy turns, throws his hands up and pushes; the arrow spins in the air before aiming back at Clint. One of the girls looks towards the advancing Avengers and throws her own hands up with enough force she jumps and the concrete tears apart, artificial arms hugging the mismatched concrete chunks together, blocking them. The second girl reaches up, grasps the air and pulls down like it’s a slot machine. The building under Clint’s feet crumbles and he has a moment of respect for the kids, the _team_ of mutants, and then there’s the sinking, crumbling feeling in his stomach.

“ _Oh shit_ ,” he murmurs before time resumes its normal pace and he’s falling. He angles himself so he’s falling facing the sky and he’s touching the base of an arrow, grappling hook-tip securely in place, when his first arrow reaches him. The rope wraps around his body tightly, tighter than he knows it’s programmed to do. He suspects the girl with animation powers to be at fault. Regardless, his arms are immobile and he’s falling with no hope of stopping.

Vaguely, he’s aware he’s shouting. “Hawkeye!” Tony shouts into the headset. He can hear the sound of the repulsors but he knows Iron Man won’t get here in time. He’s too far away. They’re all too far away. The sense of vertigo settles in his stomach and seizes his chest.

He hopes the kids don’t watch.

There are a few more terrifying moments of nothing before there’s the abrupt sound of things breaking and he lands; hard. The wind gets knocked out of him and Clint wheezes, peeks open his eyes to look at the sky. That shouldn’t be right…

The ground shifts under him and before he can do so much as look around, the Hulk’s breathing nervously in his face. The breath is warm and Clint wants to wrinkle his nose at the smell, but doesn’t. He offers a smile instead and pats at the green chest he’s lying on the best he can.

“Nice catch, Jade Jaws,” he says slowly as he tries to disentangle himself from the rope. Hulk reaches with his other hand and tries to pull the rope away from the archer. His fingers are large and clumsy but Clint’s not going to push him away.

“Cupid perch too high,” Hulk’s voice is low, like it’s a reprimand meant only for Clint. Which it was, but the Hulk’s knowledge of this and being able to say it softly? That’s intelligence he didn’t have, or didn’t show, before the Avengers. Part of Clint can’t wait to tell the doctor of this.

“Yeah?” Clint asks, rolling off the Hulk and standing. His legs are a little wobbly but he doesn’t think anyone will hold it against him. Hulk follows his movement slowly and rests on his knees. “Who else is gonna watch out for you guys?”

It’s a joke. He says it with a beaming grin up at Hulk’s worried face, but Hulk responds as seriously as ever.

“Tin Man do good. Tin Man fly. Cupid too soft.”

Hulk tilts his head with sincerity and Clint lets his grin slip into something softer. He pats Hulk’s knee and breathes out slowly.

“I’ll try to be more careful.”

Hulk grunts and nods, as if implying that’s all he’s asking. Clint really can’t stop the amusement from overtaking his features and he smothers the oncoming laughter with a cough. The moment’s shattered when Clint hears a shrill scream coming from behind the Hulk. Clint tightens his grip on his bow and steps around as Hulk stands.

“Stop! _Stop_!”

The Avengers have the group surrounded and were converging, until the girl shouted. Steve raises his hands placatingly and takes a small step back. The youngest girl is crying and hiding her face away in another’s shirt. They have the same dark hair and if the protective grip the elder has on the younger is any indication, they’re siblings. The kids are all breathing heavily, chests rising almost as one as they pant, anger and fear overriding their bodies. Clint lets his bow clatter to the ground, winces as it bounces slightly on the concrete, but doesn’t move forward. The Hulk, Clint notices, doesn’t move any closer either. His breathing is soft and when Clint looks, he has a sad, lost, look on his face.

“Hey,” Steve says gently. The boy eyes him warily and tightens his hands into fists. Steve splays his hands in front of him in the universal symbol of peace but the kids don’t relax. “Hey, like I said before,” before must have been inside the bank, “we aren’t trying to hurt you.”

The girl, the older sister, must be the leader of the group because the other two subtly look to her for instruction. There’s a pause, the girl’s breath hitches in her chest and her fingers tighten on her sister’s shirt.

“I had to get her out.” Her words catch and hitch; the emotional strain of being attacked and fighting are obviously catching up to all of them.

“Get her out?” Tony questions; his voice comes across sharp although Clint knows its surprise. The boy twitches and his eyes flash to the Iron Man suit before back to Steve. They’re outnumbered and surrounded, no chance of keeping an eye on all the Avengers like this.

“They… I had too… I… Please…” The girl stumbles over her words and Steve makes a soothing noise.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to explain anything, alright? There’s someone coming who can help you.” They tense at that and Clint can’t say he blames them but Steve’s quick to resolve the issue. “His name’s Professor Xavier. The X-Men will help.”

That doesn’t soothe them but they don’t look on the verge of attack anymore. There’s something hard in Natasha’s eye and Clint wants to go to her; these are child soldiers, born out of desperation to survive, he knows she relates and he hates it. Hates everyone and everything that made, makes, kids into soldiers.

No one says anything more and the only sounds were coming from the distressed young girl. She doesn’t seem to be calming down and the sound’s making something in his chest twist. He can see that it’s upsetting everyone else, but no one knows what to do to get her to stop.

And then Clint notices the fist-sized pieces of road littered about their feet.

He clears his throat gently, attracting attention but not scaring. Moving with deliberate slowness, he leans down and picks up three rocks. The kids tense and Clint starts whistling a slow circus tune. His team is staring at him with confusion and the kids, with apprehension. He continues his whistling obliviously.

It’s the show opening song from his circus days and once it gets to his original introduction he pauses, imagines a voice echoing down the street, _“And now, the Amazing Hawkeye”_. His pause isn’t long, just enough to give the group in front of him a grin and start juggling. The song changes into his opening theme; it’s faster, rougher. Its aim was to get the audience excited and pumped up. He juggles the rocks high into the air and tilts his head back to keep them all in view.

It takes a few rotations of his song before he realizes the whistling is the loudest on the street. His mission was successful- get the girl to stop crying. He lets the rocks slow, the loop becomes smaller, and then looks over at the group.

“Steve, toss me another one,” he offers casually, as if the Avengers regularly preformed mediocre circus tricks for frightened kids. The kids watch cautiously as Steve leans down and grabs a good-sized chunk and tosses it in Clint’s direction. He’s watching the kids to make sure they relax again and nearly drops the rocks. He stumbles, wobbling his upper body, and earns a giggle from the little girl. Clint looks over and winks at her, to which she promptly buried her face in her sister’s shirt. Once the girl looks up again he pretends to stumble again, taking several unsteady steps before regaining the balance; his efforts earn him another giggle and he smiles wide.

“Another one, someone,” he orders. The Avengers don’t move and the lone girl bends down and tosses over a rock. It’s almost too low and he has to toss two rocks high in the air to bend far enough to catch it. He grunts in triumph as the rocks fell into an easy pattern.

“How-“ the question dies off and Clint glances over in silent prompting. He sees the rest of the Avengers have relaxed, apparently his talents work on those of every age. Thor has his hands resting at his side peacefully, Tony’s face plate is up and he’s watching Clint spin the rocks with amusement in his eyes, Natasha has her arms folded across her chest with her hip cocked in a resting position that declared she wasn’t expecting attack. Steve, too, has his arms crossed on his chest but he has a fond smile on his face.

“How many can you do?” The question came softly and Clint notices it’s the girl who had been juggling bricks in the air in front of the bank. Clint grins and shifts his feet.

“Let’s find out.”

\-----

That night Clint dreams he’s falling.

He’s on the roof and then it’s gone. Blue bathes the landscape and he’s falling, falling, _falling_. The ground is gone. The building’s gone. The blue washes over him slowly, like a poison, paralyzing him inch by inch until he can’t move. There’s no air. His lungs. He can’t breathe. His lungs have _frozen_ -

Then the blue is gone; a warm green chases away the chill of blue faster than it came on. His lungs thaw as the green wraps him in safety and he’s not falling anymore. He’s _floating_ \- hovering in the air. It doesn’t matter that there’s no floor because he doesn’t need one.

Clint sleeps better than he has in three months. 

\-----

“Hey Doc,” Clint says the next day, coming into Bruce’s lab. It’s the joint lab he’d been in only once before; it’s the only lab he has clearance to enter actually. Clint stands on the outside of Bruce’s space, throwing up a hand when Bruce looks up from the magazine he’s reading before shoving his hand into his pocket.

“Hi, Clint. Something I can do for you?” He asks, standing. He looks tired, the exhaustion curving his shoulders down and hanging off him like something visible. “Avoiding medical again?” There’s a small smile toying with the edge of Bruce’s lips and Clint returns it.

“No, not today,” he says. He steps into the lab area hesitantly. Bruce watches him with cautious confused eyes but gestures to a chair. Clint sits, only because if he stayed standing, Bruce would stay standing and the man looked like he would collapse if he remained on his feet for much longer. Bruce sits slowly, like his muscles are sore and he can’t bear to move faster. Clint watches with sharp eyes and as Bruce settles comfortably he asks, “How’re you feeling?”

Bruce’s eyes dart to him, roam around the room, and then rest on him again. “Alright.”

“Come on, Bruce, I know sore muscles when I see them. Been hydrating?” Bruce grins sheepishly and Clint stands with an exasperated sigh.

“Scientists,” he says in a mockery of disappointment. Bruce makes to stand with him but Clint tuts and rests his hands on Bruce’s shoulder.

“No, no, stay. I’ll get you a water bottle.” He looks around the room, spots the mini-fridge he knew Tony had and makes his way to it. “If you drink more you’ll probably feel better, you know, after.” Bruce nods; of course, the man probably already knows. Clint hands him the water and he sits. Bruce unscrews the cap and brings it to his lips; Clint’s eyes track the bottle and he watches as Bruce’s full lips part to pour water into his mouth. He realizes he’s staring with a jolt and looks away until Bruce has drunk half the bottle and is screwing the lid back on.

“Are you always this sore after?” He asks. He knows the team takes a certain amount of responsibility making sure the geniuses are _fed_ \- well, specifically Tony- but they may have to add hydration to the shuffle. Bruce gives him a curious look, idly fumbling with the bottle in his hands. Condensation is on the plastic and weakens the paper sleeve which rips slowly as Bruce plays with the edges.

“Sometimes.” He shrugs, eyes not quite meeting Clint’s. Clint nods anyways and lets his thumb nervously crack the knuckles of his fingers.

“Potassium,” Clint says abruptly. Bruce looks at him with one eyebrow raised and Clint shrugs his shoulders, resisting the urge to squirm. “Could help with the soreness,” he clarifies. Bruce nods without a word, eyes darting back around the room. The silence settles in Clint’s lungs and he can’t think. He had a _game plan_ for Pete’s sake and now he’s sitting in the man’s lab, uncomfortably silent.

“Is there something I can do for you, Clint?” Bruce asks. His tone is neutral, the question feels impersonal and Clint almost bails.

“No, I just thought I could keep you company. I know Tony has that press conference thing and-“ At the mention of Tony he tenses and he looks at a spot across the room behind Clint before focusing on Clint with suddenly serious eyes. 

“He’ll be back this afternoon.” Bruce interrupts sharply. Clint’s eyes widen at the tone and he looks Bruce over.

“Okay?” Clint can’t help but form it as a question as Bruce stands and walks around the counter, discarding the water bottle on the edge and moving away from it.

“It’s just a short thing, shouldn’t take more than an hour.” Bruce turns and makes play at being busy with his vials of whatever and Clint stands slowly, letting his footsteps be heard as he moves to the counter.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Clint asks, watching Bruce’s back carefully.

“I’m fine,” he says without turning. Despite the obvious dismissal Clint pulls out a chair and hesitates, asking, “Mind if I stay until he gets back?” There’s a moment where Clint’s positive Bruce is going to turn him away before the scientist nods. Clint sits and watches as Bruce mixes a variety of chemicals together, glancing only briefly at the product to make sure it wasn’t toxic, Clint hopes, before slowly mixing it into a beaker.

“What’re you working on?” Clint asks. He wants to make a joke about life-saving science or how mixing chemicals alone in a lab is super villain behavior but Bruce doesn’t seem to be in a joking mood. He rattles off a long scientific name and begins a spiel about who thought of it, why Bruce is trying to prove it (or disprove it, Clint’s not too sure). Clint’s trying; trying to keep up, trying to ask questions that make sense. He’s just trying to make Bruce feel better after whatever the hell that had happened earlier. He’s stumbling his way through another nonsense question when Bruce interrupts him.

“Are you here for SHIELD?” His eyes don’t break contact but his hands pick at his shirt, twisting his fingers around the buttons. Clint tilts his head, furrows his brows.

“What? No-"

“Because… I know he chased those kids but he stopped and didn’t hurt them.” Bruce isn’t looking at him anymore; he’s eyeballing the door right behind Clint.

“Bruce! I’m not here with SHIELD.” Clint extends a hand in what he intended to be calming but let it fall to rest outstretched on the counter. Bruce looks at him with hard, wild eyes and Clint meets his gaze. “I’m not.”

There’s a moment where Bruce continues to stare at him and then he looks down, a blush burning up his neck to his face.

“Oh,” Bruce says, the word an exhale of relief. He looks up at Clint but his eyes can’t stay on the archer. “I’m… I’m sorry, I was just-“

“You don’t have to explain,” Clint rushes to say. There’s a heavy knot in his chest that he tries to ignore. His heart beats harder in his chest and a thrum of thought echoes the beats. _Bruce doesn’t trust him. Bruce doesn’t feel safe. Bruce doesn’t trust him. Bruce doesn’t feel safe._

“ _I’m_ sorry,” Clint says. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. There was just something yesterday and I don’t know how to-“

“Did something happen?” Bruce asks, the color in his cheeks fading as fast as it came. Clint can almost _see_ Bruce’s mind imagining all sorts of horrible scenarios and he wants to scream.

“No! God, Bruce, he saved me.” There’s silence. Clint grins and leans back over the counter. “I fell,” Clint starts. Bruce exhales softly and raises his eyebrows. Clint shrugs, “Occupational hazard.” He sees Bruce’s lips twitch and he relaxes minutely.

“I didn’t-“ Clint looks down at his hands. “I didn’t think anyone was going to catch me in time. But the, uh, Hulk, he caught me.” His eyes drift up to Bruce; the scientist is frowning, eyes filled with concern. Clint smiles self-consciously. “Big guy yelled at me to be more careful.”

“What?”

Clint snorts. “Yeah, he _admonished_ me. Privately. Told me Tony was capable of taking care of high places,” he can’t help but say with a smile. Bruce looks incredulous and yes, _this_ was the reaction Clint wanted. Not the scared, frantic response he got first. Never that.

“He didn’t,” Bruce says slowly and Clint can’t help beaming at him.

“His sad eyes rival Steve’s.”

Bruce tilts his head ever-so-slightly to the side and Clint’s reminded of a confused dog. His lips part a crack before his tongue peaks out to lick at them. “Really?” He asks, voice so soft it’s almost a question to himself. Clint nods. He wants to tell Bruce about all the progress they’ve made with Hulk. Wants him to know of the advances in his vocabulary, the gentleness he’s learnt, the green that enveloped his nightmare. Looking at Bruce’s face, Clint knows now isn’t the time and he taps the table twice with his fingers before backing away.

“Just wanted to let you know,” he says. He can feel Bruce’s eyes on him as he leaves.

\-----

The knowledge that Bruce thought he would sell him out to SHIELD haunts him. It shouldn’t be so surprising, the man had been relentlessly chased from one end of the world to the other by military groups, but it still stings. They were- well, Clint _thought_ they were friends, or at least attempting friendship. It appears not and Clint gives the lab and the scientist two days before he tentatively makes his way down again.

He’s bring coffee, a special decaf for Bruce and black for Tony. The elevator opens in the small hall leading to the lab and Clint watches through the glass as he approaches. Tony is obviously- strangely- a calming influence on Bruce. Clint stands at the door and watches for a moment; they both look so much younger when they’re together. Clint doesn’t get much time to linger; Tony looks up at the door moments after Clint gets there (he suspects JARVIS) and waves him in. Bruce looks up as he enters and Clint hesitates, waiting to get Bruce’s permission before entering any further.

Bruce meets his eyes before looking away again. His eyes fall on Tony as he says, “Hey, Clint.” Clint offers a small smile that isn’t seen and heads to Tony’s side of the floor. He hands Tony the coffee and he laughs triumphantly, grabbing the mug from the table where Clint sat it. .

“Coffee!” Tony exclaims and Bruce huffs a laugh. He’s making his way over and Clint extends his hand. Bruce reaches over and their fingers touch briefly as Bruce takes the mug handle carefully away from Clint.

“Thanks,” Bruce says, pressing his lips together in the semblance of a smile. Tony curses suddenly and they look over, where the billionaire is currently cupping his mouth.

“Did the steam not let you know it was hot?” Clint asks and Tony gives him a warning look. Clint laughs and sits down at a stool.

“Shut up,” Tony grumbles. Bruce rolls his eyes and walks back to his side. Tony waves his hands in front of him, calling forth a white hologram. He pushes it towards Clint and drifts to a stop in front of him.

“What do you think?” Tony asks, folding his arms across his chest. Clint looks at the arrow in front of him. It’s sleek, with a small tip and a small base; it won’t be much use long range and he tells him.

“Nah, look,” Tony adjusts the module and Clint can see the point of the arrow head is rounded. “It’ll be rubber. If we ever come across a situation like last week’s, this’ll come in handy.”

Clint cocks his head and smiles. “ _Nice_. You think you can make some with a broader tail? These could come in handy on missions.”

Tony shrugs. “Don’t see why not. You’ll have to test these out first, adjust the balance. The rubber’s heavier than the other metals I’ve worked with.” Tony pulls up the scripts that go with it and flips through them.

“Cool, thanks,” he says, maybe trying too hard to be casual. He’s seen Tony and Bruce’s friendship, he’s seen the easy way they picker and play and just _be_ around each other. They are best friends, two complementary factors that no one even questioned. He’s seen this, _and he wants it_.

He feels envious so suddenly he’s almost sick and then feels stupid for being this jealous, but he can’t help it. Natasha is great, she’s the best, but she’s not _this_.

Tony looks over at him with one eyebrow raised in dubious amusement. “No problem.”

They talk technique and style, shape and color; Clint keeps half his attention across the room, though, at Bruce who is attempting to look like he’s not paying attention. And then, he’s not anymore- ignoring Clint and Tony as nothing but background noise and Clint counts the day as a success.

\-----

By his third time going down to ‘check on things’ and he’s fairly confident both men think there’s somethings off about him, but no one stops him from coming in and Bruce seems to be relaxing more. Clint can’t explain why it’s so important that Bruce trusts him, Natasha sure doesn’t mind the awkwardness between them, but he _needs_ to know Bruce feel safe around him.

So, he visits the lab often. Always bringing a snack of some kind, he’s more than welcomed, and dare he say, encouraged.

Clint tries to keep to a strict schedule, but one only he knows, and so when he’s running behind on his afternoon in the labs, he sets the cookies he’d been waiting on down on the table and tries not too look too flustered.

“Hey,” he greets. Tony smiles and shoots upright when he smells the delicious aroma coming from the box. “Hope you enjoy these, guy in front of me wouldn’t get off the phone to order. Took me half a decade to get outta there.”

Tony quickly grabs for one of the chocolate chocolate chip ones and moans when the warm chocolate hits his tongue.

“Very good choice, Clint.” Tony says around the mouthful and offers a brief thumbs up before going back to devouring the cookie.

Bruce makes his way over slower and looks into the box before making his choice.

“Are you going to bring apology cookies every time you’re late?” Bruce asks as he takes a bite. “Because I can live with it.”

Bruce knew he was late.

Bruce paid attention to his schedule.

The knowledge comes as a warm tingle of happiness.

\-----

“Hey, Tony,” Clint whispers from the vents. Tony jumps, dropping his wrench and Clint grins through the grate.

“Barton, so help me God, if you ask about these damn arrows one more time I’m going to shove them down your esophagus.” Tony looks up and points a finger at the vent above his head.

“Shh,” Clint breathes and scrunches back further from the opening. “Anyone in here with you?”

“What? Clint-“

“Tony!”

“No, well I mean, Bruce is coming back, but not right now-“

Clint drops from the vent, carefully landing on Tony’s desk and jumping down, landing in a crouch. He peeks over it at the door before sitting with his back to the table and smiling up at Tony.

“Hey.”

“ _Hey_? What the hell are you doing?”

Clint grins. “Hiding. Nat bet me fifty bucks she’d be able to find me in twenty minutes or less. Had to get out of the vents fast.” Clint looks over his shoulder at the door before relaxing back against the leg of the table.

“Why?” Tony asks at the same moment the door opens. Clint freezes and kicks at Tony’s shins to shut him up.

“Dammit Barton! It’s just Bruce!” Clint perks up and looks back around the table leg. Bruce is standing in the doorway, paused in confusion, looking at the two men.

“Hey Bruce!” Clint greets before diving back under Tony’s desk.

“Hey,” Bruce responds, slowly. “Why is he under your desk?”

“No idea.”

“Did you see Natasha?” Clint calls out from under the table. He can only see Tony’s legs but he hears Bruce make his way across the room.

“No, was I supposed too?”

“Shit,” Clint whispers to himself. “A hidden spider is the most dangerous.”

Tony snorts and then curses. Clint straightens and looks attentively at Tony’s legs.

“You okay?”

And then Natasha is looking over the table at him with a smirk.

“You owe me fifty bucks,” she says easily and when Clint crawls out from under the table, she’s sashaying her way out of the room. Clint watches until she gets in the elevator, giving him a smug wave as the doors shut, before he turns to Tony, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Do you have fifty dollars I can borrow?”

\-----

“Here, try.”

Tony pushes Clint’s hand away and Clint sets the plate down. It’s chicken Parmesan. Literally there’s no way to go wrong.

“No. I refuse to eat anything else you make. Ever. I was sick for two weeks last time.” Clint winces at the remembrance of his last food adventure. Okay, so maybe mini-calzones are not his specialty, sue him.

“Come on, this one’s better!”

“Bring it over here,” Bruce calls from across the room. Clint turns with puppy-like happiness and starts walking towards Bruce. Tony follows after him and they both end up leaning over the edge of the counter staring at Bruce, in expectancy and worry.

“The Hulk’ll make sure I don’t die, don’t worry,” Bruce says to Tony before taking a dramatically large bite.

Clint’s not sure if he’s ever been more insulted in his life.

\-----

“Please tell me the two of you are hungry,” Clint says as way of greeting. Tony doesn’t look up from his algorithm and Bruce hums his acknowledgement.

“Now tell me again why you can’t eat alone?” Tony asks, only half-joking.

“Because if I eat, then who will feed the two of you?” Clint asks, making his way to the well-loved couch in the middle of the labs.

“You are aware we’re both grown adults, right? With doctorates.” Tony’s frowning at the results of his work and he waves his hand, erasing it to start again.

“Bruce! What’s wrong with this,” Tony flicks his wrist and the shot of light goes shooting across the room to unfold in front of Bruce.

“Yes, but _you_ are aware that I’ve been gone for three days and have been reliably informed neither of you have left the lab?”

Check and mate, Clint thinks as he wiggles on the couch until he’s comfortable.

“Here, multiply by the ninth percentile and then you divide by _that_ answer and it should- wait, what?” Bruce asks, suddenly focusing in on Clint with laser intensity. Clint nods his head smugly.

“It’s Thursday, fellas.”

The two men share a look that has Clint snorting into his hand.

“ _Now_ can we get pizza?” Clint asks, leaning his head back to whine at the ceiling. Tony pushes away from his work, stretches- Clint can hear the joints crack and pop-, and then moves down to the sink.

“Why can’t you just order pizza for you?”

“You can’t just eat pizza alone,” Clint protests and Bruce laughs, one fast bubble of sound before it’s covered with the worst fake cough Clint’s ever heard.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Bruce says quickly.

“The pizza boxes in your room beg to differ,” Tony rushes to say. Clint let’s his mouth fall open in mild embarrassment.

“ _What_?”

“It’s nothing,” Bruce insists but Tony’s grinning, bouncing like a dog about to chase the neighbors cat.

“Come on, Clint. You fall asleep down here every other day. How do you think you got back to your room?”

“I don’t know,” Clint says and he can see Tony’s eyes light up from across the room.

“It’s filthy, Barton. I’ve stopped taking you back up, luckily Bruce is nicer than I.”

And okay, so his room’s a little messy and he has some left over pizza boxes on the table, big deal. Doesn’t make the place filthy.

“Oh, shut up, Tony. It’s not filthy. And if it’s such a problem, just leave me down here.” _Or better yet, I don’t have to come down at all._ Except he won’t threaten that because he loves being there and he’s mildly worried they’ll agree to the statement and hold him to it.

Tony’s eyes widen at the sudden sharpness in Clint’s tone but Clint can’t even bring himself to care. He’s embarrassed and the mocking isn’t helping.

“It’s really no big deal,” Bruce says softly. Clint’s eyes dart to the physicist; he can see the genuine emotion on the man’s face and it helps take the burn out of Clint’s cheeks.

“Thanks,” he murmurs and Bruce nods his head with a smile. They lab is quiet, the scientist’s working on making themselves presentable to the world and Clint trying to muffle his embarrassment.

“Why do you sleep here anyways? It’s not the quietest place. You… You know you don’t have to stay down here with us, right?” Tony’s voice breaks the silence softly and Clint smiles. That’s the closest he’s going to get to an apology and he find’s he doesn’t mind.

“Yeah,” he replies. “It’s just…” _It’s just nice not to fall asleep alone._ “It’s better than the other couches.”

Tony smiles like he heard what went unsaid, and then snaps his fingers. “J? Order us the usual from the one place I like down on 7th.”  

“Yes, sir,” JARVIS responds and Clint feels warm all over.

\-----

_Blue. Electric, cold blue. Sudden bursts of blood red and a thrumming of dark, angry green._

_He’s running and running and running. The colors bleed past him, staining him. Red on his hands. Blue on his heart. Green at his feet._

_“How many agents did I?”_

_“All of them, my bird.”_

_“You’re going to anger the beast.”_

_“He’ll never trust you.”_

_“They think you’re a murderer.”_

_You’re a murderer._

_You’re a murderer. You’re going to anger the beast. Capture the beast bring him to me you killed them all the red stains your hands the blue ices your heart the green anchors your feet-_

“Wake up!”

Clint comes awake swinging, the force of his punch knocks him off the edge of the couch and and sprawls on this back before jumping to his feet. It’s too bright, he can’t see. He brings his hands up to block his face and he anchors his feet on the ground.

“Clint!”

The sound of his name startles him, he jerks, blinks. Sound comes flooding back to his senses and he can hear Bruce’s soft, calming voice come from his left. Tony’s in front of him, hands splayed in peace.

“Clint, buddy, you back with us?” Tony asks and Clint nods on instinct, and then again once the words process.

“Yeah,” he clears his throat and tries again. “Yeah, it’s fine. I’m fine.”

His arms are shaking and he can’t seem to get them to stop. Tony steps closer, slowly. He puts his hand on Clint’s bicep. Tony’s hand is hot, or maybe Clint’s just too cold, and it sends goose bumps racing down his spine.

“I don’t think you’re fine,” he says slowly and leads Clint back down to the couch. Once he’s seated Bruce is at his side and Clint leans into the warmth the other man offers. He wonders if he was screaming; God, he hopes he wasn’t.

“Sorry,” he mumbles into Bruce’s shoulder, just in case.

“Nothing to be sorry about. We’ve all had bad dreams before.”

They sit like that, Clint leaning onto Bruce while Tony strokes his arms and shoulders. Tony, for once, is blessedly quiet and Clint finds himself dozing back off, cocooned by warmth and the sound of easy breathing.

\-----

Clint has a stress ball fisted tightly in his hands as he makes his way down to the joint lab that has quickly become his go-to spot. It’s late and nightmare sweat still clings to him, but he just needs some company and he knows that _someone_ will be awake in the lab.

His hands shake as he rides down in the elevator and he wraps his arms across his chest and leans against the cool siding.

“Pull yourself together, Barton,” Clint chastises softly. Clint watches the glowing red numbers as they tick past each floor and he tries to calm his breathing. This dream shook him more than any of the others, and with Natasha away for the next few days, he desperately needs a familiar safe-spot.

“Agent Barton,” JARVIS’ voice comes from the speakers hesitantly. Clint looks up and tightens his hold on the stress ball.

“Yeah?” His voice is raspy and he swallows harshly.

“Are you alright?”

Clint takes a shaky breath in and nods. “Yeah, yeah just a bad dream.”

He feels like a child and swallows down the embarrassment at having to need someone else.

The elevator dings and the doors slide open, revealing the dim hallway leading to the overly bright lab. Clint stumbles his way to the lab doors and struggles with the handle. He can’t seem to get his hands to unclench and his heart starts racing again until he sees movement in the lab.

Tony’s sitting on Bruce’s side, a bag of pretzels in his hand. Bruce is scribbling something down in a journal and Tony’s leaning across the desk to read it. Clint watches as Tony reaches out and points at something; his fingers have pretzels sticking out from them in a mockery of Wolverine and Clint smiles at the fact.

The pretzels wave under Bruce’s face again and Bruce leans down and grabs them with his mouth. He smiles as he chews and Tony refills his Wolverine Claws. Clint watches a moment longer before realizing his hand is loose and he can grip the door handle. He feels calmer now, but still he enters.

They look over at him, both with a moment of confusion before realizing why he must be there. Bruce smiles warmly and pulls out a seat next to him and Tony holds out the bag of pretzels.

\-----

That isn’t the last time Clint catches the two men sharing food. They aren’t hiding the fact that they eat each other's things, but it’s an action that falls into the background noise of the days. He suspects the only reason he notices now is because he’s looking for it. The actions are simplistic, natural, and Clint only ever sees it out of his periphery but he never thought too hard over it.

Until one afternoon he walks into the lab unannounced. Truthfully, he’s never announced, but he was supposed to be at Headquarters all day in a seminar.

“Hey guys,” he greets loudly as he enters the lab. His eyes dart around the room and he see’s them on Bruce’s side, hidden in the corner. Clint smiles as he approaches but slows his walk until he’s stopped with several feet between them. Tony’s just taken a bite of a burrito in Bruce’s hand and he’s staring at Clint, eyes hard. Bruce’s back is ramrod straight and Clint frowns when neither start speaking.

He wonders if they’re fighting, but immediately dismisses it. Tony’d just eaten part of Bruce’s food, so not fighting. It had to be something to do with him, but he doesn’t know what he could’ve done wrong.

“Miss me?” He asks half-heartedly with a self-conscious grin. There’s a moment of silence in which the room gets more tense than Clint thought possible, before Tony smiles and snorts around his mouthful.

“Hardly noticed you were gone,” Tony says, waving his hand like dismissing the topic.

Bruce relaxes and Tony leans back in his chair, swallowing. Clint’s not sure what happened but the tension disperses just as quickly as it came on. Clint smiles at the tease and rolls his eyes.

“You weren’t mourning the fact I didn’t bring you coffee this morning?”

“No, but now that you brought it up… Where’s my apology coffee?” Tony asks, folding his arms across his chest. Clint waves his hand in front of his face, mimicking Tony’s earlier movement.

“Apologize? You didn’t even know I was gone.”

Bruce snorts at that and sets his burrito on its wrapper, folding the edges around it. Clint wants to ask what their deal was just moments ago, but doesn’t have the time before Bruce easily sidesteps the whole topic.

“I thought you had a SHIELD thing,” Bruce says. Clint shrugs his shoulders and sits down.

“The agent going over the seminar got violently ill. I’m talking projectile.” Tony screws his face up in disgust.

Clint laughs.

\-----

“Thor! You ready?” Natasha shouts across the gym as she dodges a hit from Clint. Clint blocks the return and backs up a few paces, giving her room to advance.

“Aye!” Thor calls back. Clint can see the man heading over to them and drops to his knees as Natasha spins a kick at him. Clint thrusts his leg out to try and hook her into falling but she jumps out of the way and aims a lower kick. Clint rolls to safety and stands, hands up and already blocking her blows. By the time Thor’s at the mat’s edge, both are breathing heavily but neither has managed to land a hit. It’s for that reason they don’t spar together- they’ve fought together for too long, they’re too close.

“I tap out,” Clint says when Natasha still hasn’t take her eyes off of him. She tilts her head up with a grin and turns her gaze to Thor.

“Ready?”

Thor smiles at her and she backs up in invitation. Clint doesn’t watch as the two fight; he has a lot of pent up energy and watching two people exert themselves will do nothing to help him. The sound of Steve at the punching bag comes across the room but when Clint looks around, the first thing he sees is Bruce sitting on the benches. Clint inclines his head and walks over to him.

“Hey,” he calls out. Bruce meets his eyes with a smile.

“Hey.”

“You wanna spar?” He asks, tilting his head toward an empty area.

“No thanks,” he says with a chuckle and head-shake. “It’s probably best if I just watch.”

“I’ll be gentle,” Clint offers and Bruce raises an eyebrow like he seriously doubts that. “I’ll try.”

“Thanks but it’s the Other Guy you guys fight with. I’m hoping that if I watch long enough he’ll be able to remember it.” That makes sense and Clint nods.

“Okay,” the word comes out hesitantly and he clears his throat. “Well if you change your mind, let me know.” Bruce nods. Clint walks over to Steve, thinking about how smart it would be for _Bruce_ to learn to fight. He calls out to Steve, who readily agrees, and it’s not much time after that that the two have a mat rolled into place.

Starting a fight is always longer and more awkward than it should be. Nearly everyone in the gym has been trained to never throw the first punch and so it’s several moments of impassive circling before one member finally gives in. Today, Clint throws the first punch. The next moves are rapid and Clint relies more on instinct than sight. Steve advances and Clint throws himself to the ground, rolling to his feet and spinning to land a hit on Steve’s shoulder. The super-solider turns and his foot connects with Clint’s hip. The kick is gentle, Clint knows the Captain is pulling his punches, but it’s still enough to send him stumbling back. Clint’s moment of unbalance doesn’t slow Steve and Clint barely has enough time to block a jab to his face. He twists and the top of his foot catches Steve behind the leg. Steve falls, throwing his weight to propel himself back up.

They fight back and forth some more; Clint falls, he takes Steve down with him, they both get up swinging again. It involves more thinking than sparring with Natasha but Steve is too cautious about his strength to really challenge instincts. He manages to catch Steve off-guard, punches him in the arm and then kicks him in the stomach. Steve staggers backwards and Clint feels a burst of pride warm his belly.

He wonders if Bruce is watching.

Clint tilts his head, looking around to find the scientist, when Steve’s fist collides with his face. Clint drops to his knees, eyes watering. Blood gushes from his nose and his hands immediately go to cup his face. Steve’s at his side in an instant, gripping his shoulders; Steve’s probably the only thing keeping him upright at the moment.

“Shit, Clint, I’m sorry. Are you okay?” Steve asks in a rush before shouting for some ice. Clint blinks back the tears in his eyes and doesn’t say anything, unwilling to let the blood flow into his mouth.

He feels someone touch his shoulder and he squints up to see Natasha, looking down at him worriedly. He blinks up at her and in between one blurry moment to the next, she vanishes from his line of sight and curly, salt-and-pepper hair is kneeling beside him. Clint’s eyes roam; he sees Steve in the back of the room, rummaging around with clean rags in his hands, Natasha is still, right behind Bruce. Thor is waiting behind Natasha, hands twitching uneasily. Steve is back, thrusting the towels at Clint and Bruce. Clint grabs one, blood runs down his arms and drips onto the mat before he pushes the towel against his face. Bruce reaches up and rubs another towel against Clint’s lips, wiping away the excess blood. Clint grins and pants through his mouth; he can taste the blood that has slipped through the cracks of his lips and gotten into his mouth, the copper staining his tongue. He makes eye contact with Steve; the super-soldier’s mouth is downturned into a guilty frown. Clint tilts his head, ignoring Bruce’s huff to stay still, and nods at Steve.

“I’m fine.” And he is; the pain’s fading already- given he doesn’t move. Steve’s face doesn’t lose any of its guilt but he nods anyway. Bruce pushes Clint’s head back and he can’t see anything but the gym ceiling.

“Here,” Bruce says, wrapping his fingers around Clint’s wrist and guiding Clint’s hand away from his face. “I’m taking the towel off.”

“Ought to buy me dinner first, Doc,” Clint says with a smirk. Well, he tries to smirk; the movement pulls his skin tight and has him gasping from the abrupt pain.

“Behave,” Bruce murmurs as he looks down at Clint’s nose. It’s swollen already, a deep purple spreading to under his eyes. Bruce pokes at the skin around it carefully and Clint hisses, flinching away, nearly falls backwards onto the mat. Bruce grips his head, one finger under his ear and one on his temple on each side. His thumbs are parallel to Clint’s nose and even the slightest pressure brings tears to his eyes.

“I’m going to push it back in place,” Bruce says softly. He applies more pressure, testing Clint’s pain tolerance. Clint jerks back, Bruce loosens his grip but follows Clint’s jerk away.

“Or,” Clint says, raising his hands to grab at Bruce’s wrists. “We can just leave it broken. It’ll be fine.” Natasha comes around the edge of his vision and then he feels her cold hands on his head. Her fingers knot in his hair and hold his head steady.

“Don’t be a baby, Clint.” She says. He can see her nod and before he can fully understand what the nod means, Bruce’s fingers tighten and his world explodes into white flashes of pain.

When color filters back into his world he’s lying flat on his back with Bruce’s warm hands on his chest.

“Clint? You back?”

Clint blinks, stares up at the ceiling, and breathes. His eyes are wide and he’s fixated on a dark spot between the light fixtures. Natasha’s kneeled at his head, he can hear her breathing, and his eyes dart up to her then lower to Bruce.

“Damn Doc, you have no mercy.” Bruce’s fingers flex against his chest before sliding over to grip his upper arm and gently helping him rise. Clint gets to his feet and smiles, before swaying and stumbling backwards into Natasha’s sturdy frame. Bruce starts walking to the door and Natasha balances his weight against her as they follow.

“Come on, Duckling, let’s get you some ice,” she says. Clint lets out a whine and Bruce looks over his shoulder with an amused smile on his lips as he opens the door for them and follows them to the elevator.

\------

Clint’s nose is nearly healed and Steve’s only apologized _ninety thousand times_ by the time Team Night rolls around. Once a month the team meets up, regardless of responsibilities and they just _be_ with each other. It’s nice and in total confidentiality, Clint wishes it could happen more often. Maybe once his and Natasha’s contract with SHIELD is up, and when Thor’s political duties lessen it’ll be easier.

He rides the elevator to the den (if an entire floor can be considered a den). The room’s huge, wide open and, with the exception of the bathroom, it has only half-walls that aren’t more than three feet tall dividing the sections. It’s the coziest of all the floors- made specifically for luxury and roominess.

The coffee table has been moved to the center of the floor, the furniture rotated to center it rather than the TV wall. Bruce and Thor are in the kitchenette, Clint assumes- hopes- they’re making snacks, and waves when the two look over.

“Friend Clint!” Thor says happily, shoving food to one side of his mouth. Clint does a mental celebration at the prospect of food and walks over.

“What’re you eating?” He ask as he reaches the half-wall and leans over.

“Bruce made us a delicious treat for our games!” Thor gestures to the plate beside him and Clint feels all amusement slide off his face.

“Ants-on-a-log? Really, Bruce?” Clint reaches over and grabs one of the celery sticks. The peanut butter catches his finger and he licks off a raisin. Bruce smiles at him and shrugs.

“The group eats enough junk food on a regular basis, I think these will be fine for one night.”

Clint huffs as he bites into the celery, careful to keep the peanut butter mess as controlled as possible. “You think _wrong_ ,” Clint mumbles. Bruce gives him an amused look before rolling his eyes.

“Then don’t eat them,” Bruce quips back. Clint waits until Bruce is looking away to roll his eyes and wiggle his head mockingly. Thor snorts a laugh and Bruce looks up with an expression that screams his patience is being tested. Clint laughs loudly and heads over to the coffee table. A white box is setting underneath the table and Clint barely suppresses a groan at the sight of it. Monopoly _and_ celery, does everyone in this tower hate him?

He reaches for the box and begins to assemble the board when the elevator opens and Steve and Natasha walk in. They’re both grinning and settle around Clint, Steve to his left and Natasha right across. 

“Steve,” he whines as they shift into more comfortable arrangements. Bruce and Thor are coming from the kitchenette, plates of celery in their hands. Steve looks over at Clint and Clint widens his eyes in the mockery of a pout. “Bruce is making us eat celery.”

Steve looks across the table at Bruce, where the man was setting the plates down before lowering himself to the floor. Bruce shrugs and Steve looks back to Clint. “And?”

Clint groans and throws himself against Thor, who’d taken the option to sit to his left. Thor laughs and pushes Clint back into his spot. “Nat,” Clint starts, looking pleadingly at his best friend. “Surely you won’t let this happen.”

Natasha smirks at him before reaching for a stick and takes a bite. She nods at Bruce and says, “Delicious, thanks.”

Bruce is petty enough to beam in Clint’s direction.

“Fine. Whatever,” Clint huffs. He reaches for one of the celery snacks on the plate between him and Thor and hears Natasha snort. He looks up in time to see Steve roll his eyes fondly and raises his eyebrows questioningly.

“ _What?_ No, never mind, let’s just get this game started.”

“Tony’s not here yet-“

“Then he gets the shoe.” Natasha decisively place the shoe on the empty space to her left.

“He’s not even here and he gets to chose first?” Bruce grumbles and reaches for the thimble. Natasha huffs dramatically and rolls her eyes.

“Did anyone else want to be the shoe?” They wisely choose to shake their heads and reach for a play-piece simultaneously. Natasha snags the iron from Thor’s fingers but Thor doesn’t mind, quickly grabbing the cannon. Clint gets the battleship and Steve holds the top hat in his hands, grinning like he’d just won the game. Clint absolutely does not scoff “nerd” under his breath and doesn’t get a retaliated shove from Natasha under the table.

Clint meets Natasha’s gaze with a look that bled innocence.

“Steve, just deal,” Bruce says when it becomes clear that neither SHIELD agent would budge. Steve obeys with a quick laugh and passes out the correct amount of money. Thor grabs his and splays them between his fingers.

“And what does the colored cash mean?”

They spend the next ten minutes going over the rules and explaining how the game works. By the time they’re finished, the elevator finally announces Tony’s arrive. The room seems to get louder just by having the man in it.

“Alright people, lets get this party started,” Tony says as the elevator doors open. He’s smiling and snaps his fingers before clapping his hands together as he walks over. “Wait, why don’t I smell popcorn?”

The table comes into view and Tony pauses, frowning before continuing to the empty seat. “ _Bruce_ ,” he whines, putting his piece on GO. “You did this didn’t you.”

“Ha!” Clint gloats as Tony gestures at the plate of celery. Bruce sighs heavily and gives Clint a look before flicking his gaze to Tony.

“You’ll live."

Tony lets out a long, exaggerated groan and the table minus Clint- who is in complete solidarity with him- gives Tony a dull look.

“If you’re done…?” Natasha voices and Tony offers her a cheeky grin. 

He grabs the dice and offers it to her in an overdramatic hand gesture. “By all means.”

The start of the game is slow. Thor doesn’t quite grasp the rules, and Clint spends most of the time whispering the instructions into the god’s ear. Tony’s knack of business transcends to the game and he owns half the properties before the first hour ends and ends up charging everyone except Steve and Natasha double price; no one questions it.

Thor seems to be doing surprisingly well, and Clint steals a few notes off the top of his stack when no one’s looking. Otherwise, he might’ve been out earlier than Bruce. Bruce goes bankrupt an hour and a half in, Clint subtly blames Tony’s double-pricing but Bruce seems happy to just sit and watch.

Clint’s sliding a yellow ten piece when he feels eyes on him. He looks up and meets Natasha’s gaze. Her eyes flicker to Thor, who is totally oblivious, and back to Clint. He raises his eyebrows in silent question and she gives an almost imperceivable shake of her head. Clint slides the money into his hand and the turn goes through him twice before he realizes why Natasha didn’t rat him out just for the drama of it. She catches Clint’s eye, and with a smirk takes several 50’s out of Tony’s deck. Clint snorts and the billionaire turns from his argument with Bruce to give him a questioning- daring- look.

“Anything to share Legolas?”

Clint coughs back another chuckle. “Nope. Keep doin’ you.”

The game continues for several more hours and despite the game itself, Clint enjoys it. He feels like a kid, playing until the sunrise bathes the room pink, and it’s fun. He hasn’t had fun in a long time.

They pack up the box sloppily and stretch, joints cracking from so long on the floor. Bruce lays on the ground, stretching his arms above his head to pop his back, and Tony collapses to the ground beside him. Tony curls against Bruce’s side with a yawn.

“I think I’m just going to stay here,” he says, eyes drooping closed. Steve and Clint share a look; Tony’s never one to go to sleep when he’s tired and Bruce sighs in defeat, shifts to his side, and pillows his head with his arm.

“ _Yeah_ ,” Natasha draws out, climbing onto the couch. “I’m not trekking back either.”

Thor reaches for a couch pillow sleepily and Natasha tosses it to him, hitting his head weakly before dropping to the ground. Thor nods with a smile and drops down.

“I’ll go find some blankets,” Steve mumbles, standing. Clint looks after Steve and then to the room. Natasha peeks her eyes open at him and then waves him over.

“Come on, Clint,” she says, sliding to give him room. He stands and starts to walk over, stumbling over Tony’s leg. Tony sits up with a startled yelp and rubs at his leg, glaring as Clint climbs onto the couch. Clint wraps his arms around Natasha’s waist and curls against her, letting her shoulder block out the room light.

“Where’s…” He hears Tony say softly before shouting, “Cap! Forget the blankets come on.”

Steve reemerges, sans blankets, and Tony points to an empty spot between Bruce and Thor. “Lay,” he instructs. Steve obeys, wrapping his arms around himself. The room’s silent for a minute before Tony speaks up again.

“J, give us some heat and lower lights to five percent,” he says softly. JARVIS does so without a word; the sound of the heater kicking on breaks through the silence and the lights dim to just a faint point of light.

Steve lets out a shaky breath and before long, all the Avengers are asleep without dreams.

\------

Clint walks into the kitchen, bleary-eyed from another restless night. He walks on autopilot to the fridge to pull out a gallon of chocolate milk. Tony mocks him for it, but Clint’s positive he’s seen the billionaire drinking it straight from the carton before.

Clint takes the extra steps to the cabinets to get a glass, because, while he may have been raised by carnies, he isn’t without common decency and only a madman drank straight from a shared carton.

“Some one looks like they had a rough night,” says a voice from the table. Clint doesn’t look over, just hums his agreement as he pours the chocolaty goodness into the glass. He’s screwing the lid on when he realizes he doesn’t recognize the voice. He turns, holding the milk carton in front of him like a weapon, and truth be told he probably could use it as one if the situation became dire, but he relaxes marginally upon seeing Tony sitting next to a dark-skinned man.

Clint’s eyes flicker between the two, sleep vanishing from the rush of adrenaline. Tony laughs at the expression on his face and downs his mug of coffee.

“Who’s this?” Clint asks, not yet turning to reach for his milk. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Tony’s people, it’s that he doesn’t have much faith in anyone who hasn’t proven themselves to him.

The man stands, brushes his hands down his shirt, and extends his hand. “Lieutenant Colonel James Rhodes. You can call me Rhodey, everyone who hangs around Tony usually does.” The man, Rhodey, smiles. Clint shifts the milk to one hand and reaches out.

“Clint Barton,” he says, shaking hands.

Tony stands up and shivers dramatically. “So formal,” he says as he walks to the coffee maker. Rhodey backs up, grinning, and sets back down at the table. Clint moves to the fridge, sets the carton back on the shelf and grabs the caramel creamer Tony’s secretly addicted to. He sets it on the table across from Tony’s seat.

“Caramel? Really?” Rhodey asks with his eyebrows raised and a smirk turning his lips up. Clint bristles at the mocking tone but is soothed at the laughter coming from Tony.

“I’m a man of fine tastes,” he responds.

“I thought you’d sworn off caramel after than incident in Jersey.”

Tony rolls his eyes with a shudder. “Don’t bring it up, I went through years of therapy!” Tony exclaims over Rhodey’s sudden laughter. Tony rolls his eyes fondly and huffs as he sits. He eyes Clint across his coffee mugs as he blows on the steaming liquid.

“Gonna stand there the whole morning?” He asks and Clint blinks, suddenly aware he was staring, and turns for his glass.

“Come on, sit, enjoy breakfast.”

“Tony, that’s a loaf of bread.” Rhodey’s voice is flat and Clint takes a seat at the table across from him, trying not to laugh.

“What?” Tony asks, pushing the loaf towards Clint. “Am I supposed to toast it for you?”

Clint pushes the loaf back towards the center of the table. “Thanks.”

Tony shrugs and Rhodey rolls his eyes. “I’m making eggs, want some?”

“I’m good, thanks,” Clint says. Rhodey gets up with a nod and Tony leans forward in his chair after him.

“I want some, Rhodey!”

Rhodey hums his acknowledgment and Tony sighs happily as he sips at his coffee. Clint tilts his chair so he can keep the two in sight.

“So, how long’ve you known each other?”

“Went to college together,” Tony says at the same time Rhodey offers, “Met at MIT.”

There's a sudden crash in the kitchen and Tony gives a world-weary sigh. “ _Please_ don’t break my kitchen! I live with the Hulk and I don’t worry as much when he’s alone as I do when you’re unsupervised.”

“Do not start with me, Tony,” Rhodey warns, giving him a sharp look through the wall window. Tony gives him a beaming smile.

Rhodey gives him another warning glance before going back to the eggs.

“So, what do you do, Rhodey?” The nickname feels weird in his mouth, too intimate.

“I was Stark Industries liaison, now I’m mostly doing solo gigs as the War Machine.”

Clint looks over at Tony and mouths, “War Machine?” Tony rolls his eyes.

“When I was dying, I gave Rhodey one of my suits-“

From the kitchen they hear, “-Gave my ass! I took that suit fair and square.”

“Regardless!” Tony raises his voice to be heard and then lowers it again. “He souped it up, gave it a new name, rides around like he owns the place.”

Rhodey gives an amused laugh as he walks back into the room, holding a plate of steaming eggs and a bowl. “I do own the place, Tony. You ignore the facts.”

He sets the bowl in front of Tony and digs in on his own plate. Tony looks down into the bowl, and then stares straight ahead in what Clint is sure is a show for him, before looking blandly at Rhodey.

“Is this really what you chose to do with your life?”

Rhodey smirks around a mouthful of eggs and nods decisively. Clint cranes his neck to see three whole, uncracked eggs placed loosely in the bowl.

“What?” Rhodey says once he’s swallowed. “Am I supposed to cook them for you?”

“Don’t be like this, Rhodey. Come on, gimme some of yours.” Tony reaches for the plate and Rhodey wraps his arm around it, scooting away.

“Rhodey,” Tony whines, hitting a note higher than Clint thought possible.

“Fine. But only because I need a program update on the suit.”

Rhodey slides his plate back over to Tony and Clint expects to see Tony stab his fork into the fluffy yellow.

Instead, Rhodey lifts his place and, waiting until Tony removes the uncooked eggs, dumps half his plate into the bowl.

“What’s wrong with it?” Tony asks.

“It’s glitching when I turn left.”

Clint watches in confusion as the two men eat out of their separate bowls and talk about the suit. It shouldn’t be this confusing, Clint knows he’s thinking about it too hard, but… Tony and Bruce share food all the time. And, well, Rhodey and Tony were closer, weren’t they? They’d definitely known each other longer but Clint knows that doesn’t necessarily mean anything.

Clint’s been around Tony long enough to identify the look in his eyes as he talks to Rhodey. It’s adoration, trust; a type of love that’s innocent but strong. Clint feels a sudden possessiveness overcome him and his attention to Rhodey becomes much more clinical. 

They talk until they’re done eating; Clint stays startlingly quiet and Tony send him a few confused looks but doesn’t mention it. They end up migrating to the living room, Clint following behind with a bitter expression. Steve and Thor are there, watching cartoons recorded for them by Bruce, and Clint perches on the arm of the couch by Steve. Steve turns the TV off and both he and Thor look Rhodey over with a curious expression. They stand and Rhodey steps forward, offering his hand.

“Hey, I’m James Rhodes,” Rhodey says, shaking Steve’s hand. “It’s an honor to meet you.”

“ _Lieutenant Colonel_ James Rhodes!” Tony calls out from the back of the room. He’s tugging over an extra chair (moved to the back corner of the room because Natasha likes to sleep in the open sometimes- to prove she can- but doesn’t like leaving her back open). Steve straightens his shoulders minutely at the title. He nods his head and holds himself stiffly, like he wants to fall into a salute. Rhodey claps him on the shoulder before he can; Tony’s laughter is clear from the back of the room.

“Just call me Rhodey.” Steve nods with a smile.

“Pleasure to meet you.”

Rhodey turns to the god beside him and grins. “And you must be Thor.” Thor merely laughs and pats Rhodey on the back.

“And you are a military man like our good Captain.” Thor replies. Tony’s slid the chair over and Rhodey takes a seat in the one already there.

“Yeah, fifteen years.”

Steve lets out a low, impressed sound and Thor leans forward.

“You and Anthony have fought for a long time together, yes?”

“Not quite big guy. I sold the weapons, didn’t play with them.” Tony answers. Thor looks between the two, considering this statement before smiling brightly.

“Then you are not brothers on field but brothers in bond.”

Tony only smiles.

They talk for much longer, swapping stories of valor and embarrassment. Clint still can’t figure out what’s wrong with the situation. It seems like they’re just slightly out of tune and Clint retreats further and further into silence.

Clint feels better when Natasha arrives. Natasha and Tony are… not quite friends, not yet, but Natasha’s protective over the team in a way that makes her very dangerous. If she senses somethings off with Rhodey, it won’t be long before she says something.

Only, she doesn’t.

Clint thinks she might not be looking and he huffs. Of all the time for her to be relaxed, he could really use her right now.

When Bruce joins them, completing the team, it does nothing but set him more on edge. Tony and Bruce mimic each other’s posture, they balance each other more than he’s seen of Rhodey and Tony.

Clint becomes so focused on watching the interaction between Tony and Rhodey, that he completely misses when Bruce leaves; but it’s drawn to his attention before being pushed to the background when Tony stands.

“I’ll be back,” he says, mostly to Rhodey, who’s beginning to look overwhelmed with the constant chatter around him. Rhodey nods and Clint watches as Tony steps out into the hall. Clint casts a quick look around, makes sure no one’s watching him, before he follows after Tony.

He just wants to know what’s up between him and Rhodey. It’s driving him crazy not being able to pinpoint what makes them different than he and Bruce. Tony’s turning the corner, going towards the bathroom, and Clint speeds up, hoping to catch him before he goes it.

“I missed you today,” he hears Tony say. He slows, about to turn around, not wanting to interrupt a private conversation.

“We were just together five minutes ago.” It’s Bruce’s voice. Clint’s feet freeze as he listens in on a conversation not meant for his ears.

“Yeah, but not _alone_. You were gone when I woke up this morning,” Tony’s voice is soft and Clint inches closer. “And I haven’t been able to do this.” Clint peeks around the corner.

He can’t look away, he watches as Tony tips Bruce’s head back and knots his fingers in the scientist’s curls. Bruce presses Tony against the door jam and suddenly Clint feels tightness in his chest. It coils hot around his lungs and burns in his throat. His arms tingle, threatening numbness, and he feels an aching so deep in his stomach he thinks he might actually throw up.

Oh.

_Oh._

Clint retreats to the elevator, ignoring Steve’s concerned “Are you alright?” and Natasha’s worried stare. The doors slide shut before anyone comes after him. He doesn’t speak and JARVIS doesn’t prompt him. The flair of pure jealousy is still shaking his body and he leans against the wall.

“My rooms, please,” he asks hoarsely. JARVIS still doesn’t speak and that just leaves thoughts to overtake his head. It’s confusing and loud but when the elevator dings his arrival his thoughts silence and one lone conclusion ripples across his mind like a stone thrown in water.

Maybe he's not a half.

Maybe he's a third.

\-----

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed it! Part two will be coming soon! I've got the whole thing plotted out, just gotta write it:) 
> 
> Also, this is unbeta'd so if you see any mistakes, please let me know :)
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at screamingarrows.tumblr.com


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